


The Mark

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Dominance, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 12:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Dean’s getting worse, and The Mark is hungry.





	The Mark

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of a drabble I'd written for my last birthday celebration.
> 
> *Heed the warnings.

“You and Sam stay the hell away from me. Next time I won’t miss.”

The words echo in your head, Dean’s voice a deep growl as he stomps away from the beaten and bloodied Angel. Your fingers curl tight around the iron railing, heartbeat thumping in your ears.

You’d spent the last week in Ruidoso, New Mexico at Sam’s request. Dean had been getting worse, much worse, the Mark’s influence whittling the hunter into an emotionless, blood-thirsty husk of a man. Sam suggested you take a few days, remove yourself for a little while; he was onto something, had a plan.

But then he’d called you in the dead of night, voice a breathy rasp and shaking in a way you’d never heard before, those earth-shattering words cracking into the sleepy quiet.

Charlie was dead.

You’d dropped everything, floored it back to Lebanon in impossible time, freezing at the bunker’s entrance when you’d heard the pained masculine grunts, the bone-breaking punches.

Your brain is telling you to run now, to open the door and just sprint for it, but your blanched knuckles stay glued in place.

You hear his heavy boots thumping down the steps before your gaze drop to him. He stops, head tilts back as murderous eyes pin to yours.

“You too?” His voice is flat and rusty.

 _Fuck it,_  you decide.  _Run._

Your head spins as you turn, hand grasping the door handle-

_CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!_

He’s fucking  _chasing_  you, heavy boots against metal. You manage to wrench the door open-

_SLAM!_

The door’s instantly shut and latched again, and there’s a warm, heavy weight pressing into your back. You look up to see Dean’s blood-crusted hands splayed over the aged metal, trapping you inside the steely cage of his muscled arms.

You’re panting loud, heavy lungfuls of air shoving over your lips.

“Ya know…” Dean muses, unwinded voice a pebbly rasp over your head. “I expected this from my brother. I expected it from Cas - but you?” He huffs a humorless laugh. “Wasn’t expecting it from  _you_.”

“No,” you try, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Dean…this isn’t…it’s not what you-”

“You followed me. Didn’t ya?”

“No!” you gasp, struggling to twist against his heavy mass. “Sam called, and I-”

“Oh,  _Sam…”_  The icy grin in Dean’s voice settles deep in your bones. “Knew that asshole pulled you into this…”

You start to shake, trembling between metal and muscle. “No-”

“No?” Dean echoes. “This all you then?” He leans his weight into you, crushing you against the cold plane of the door.

“Dean, stop,” you wheeze, fingernails clawing at rust-streaked shirt sleeves. He fits his hips against your ass, lets you feel the hard lump of solid cock trapped under denim. You steel, suck in a panicked breath.

“I killed  _so_ many people today,” Dean murmurs. “Gets me all…worked up.” He brings a hand to your hip, fingers slipping up underneath the hem of your t-shirt. “Hard to calm down.” He kneads the fleshy dip of your waist, then smooths his fingers over your belly, down underneath the waistband of your jeans.

“You wanna help me out here?” he whispers, breath damp-hot. “Wanna help me feel all… better?”

You shiver under his searing touch as rough fingers pull at your jeans, working them open, hissing when he shoves his big hand underneath your panties, rough fingers boldly rubbing over your rapidly dampening folds.

“Dean, wait - oh goddd!” Liquid fire rockets through you when two thick fingers suddenly  _plunge_  into your slick heat.

He fists a hand in your hair, pain blooming over your scalp when he  _yanks_  back. “Gonna fuck you right here against the door,” Dean says, then pushes the heel of his palm hard against your clit.“Gonna fuck ya til this Mark shuts the hell up.” You whimper and bite down a sob. “Then I’m gonna fuck ya some more.”

“Dean!”

There’s no rhythm to his fingers, just a stray pump here and there, but his palm is hot and thick against your interested clit, little sparks of electric pleasure glittering through you every time he shifts against it. “You’re getting wet,” he whispers as his hand leaves your hair to grope your tits, he says it like it’s some terrible truth, and it really probably is, but you can’t focus on that when you’re gathering everything in you not to grind against the rough heel of his hand.

He starts to languidly drag his fingers in and out, and yeah, you’re wet, can hear the slick noise of it with every push and pull. You’ve got your lips pressed into a tight crease, pulling in thready little breaths through your nose, and there’s a threat of a moan just waiting to rumble up from the base of your throat. He jerks in hard just then, knuckle-deep and  _curled_ , so that he’s pressing right into your g-spot. “Think y’can squirt for me?” he asks, throaty. “Get all nice and slick so I can just  _slide_  right in?” You’re shaking hard, thighs hot and rubbery, belly knotted already. Your lips pop back into place, parting as your jaw slackens when he starts to  _deliciously_  rub at that pleasure-patch deep inside.

You’re close, so close already, can feel the melty heat of it licking up your thighs. “Fuck,” you breathe, surrendering. Your hands fist and pull at his sleeves, anchoring down. He rubs harder, and you can’t stop your hips from helplessly rolling against him. The pleasure burns, flushes you all over. You’re panting hard, steaming up the cold metal of the door as the pleasure crests. “Dean!” you grit. “Fuck-”

“That’s it,” Dean rumbles, stubbled cheek plastered against your damp temple. “Give it up.” You shut your eyes tight, feel yourself helplessly giving in to the sweet pleasure. You let out a choked cry just as the coil gives, and he has to wrap an arm around your middle to keep you standing because you’ve gone limp with the terrifying intensity of your orgasm. Your jeans are soaked through now; heavy and…

_Dropping._

“Nnngh-no…wait…” Your voice is a thick slur, distant under the blood rushing in your ears, but he just keeps dragging your jeans down until they’re bunched at your knees. You squirm, try to pivot out of his grip, but you’re still so jellied and weak, and his arm’s an iron coil around you.

You can hear him working his belt open one-handed, and the sound of it makes fresh heat prickle over you.  “Stop,” you try, exhausted, weakly pushing at the hefty loop of his arm. Dean doesn’t respond, just shifts against you, until you can feel the warm, blunt press of his dick at your opening. The gathered slick of wet and come eases him right in, muscles unprotesting as he impales you. He pushes slow, no doubt watching himself disappear into you, reveling in the way your cunt eagerly sucks him in.

It isn’t that this is the first time - you’ve fucked before, many times - but never like this - he’s never just  _taken_  you like this. He slips his arm from you so he can brace both palms against the door, and you  _erupt_  in fiery heat because he’s suddenly  _fucking_ you; hard and deep and fast, hips cracking against you. He’s got you so crushed up against the door that the only thing you can do is plaster your cheek and palms against it, just inside where his are splayed; bracing.

Your eyes are closed through it all, but you chance a look down, catching a glimpse of how his bowed knees are bent outside yours to meet your shorter height, boots pressed against your own. You’re caged inside the frightening strength of him; small and helpless.

The pleasure blooms hotter and higher with every thrust, makes everything tighten up at a frightening rate. He’s pistoning in and out of you so  _fast_ , plunging in so deep that you can feel his heavy balls slapping against you on every drive.

Your skin is glossy with sweat, t-shirt damp and clinging to your chest. He clamps a hand hard on your throat, fingertips pressing and bruising into the sides of your neck. You see The Mark glowing ember-hot with its hunger, can feel it’s heat on your skin even through the cotton of your shirt. He squeezes hard enough for the blood to darken and collect under your cheeks, pulsing behind your eyes. It makes everything that much more sensitive, centers your focus on the meaty pounding between your legs.

Faster and faster, he thrusts, fingers locked around your throat, teeth nipping and scraping at the flushed shell of your ear. You’re shaking all over again, wet and tight under and around him as the pleasure swells and swells.

“Fuck!” you choke, voice cracked and strained, dimming down to a dying groan as wave after syrupy wave of pleasure rolls through you. Dean chuckles breathlessly as you go limp again, pulls his hand away to smack against the door again as his rhythm goes  _wild._

He curls in over you with teeth-clamped snarl, bites at the meat of your neck and shoulder as his muscles lock, as he spurts hot and deep. He smooths your damp hair back, unnervingly soothing. You wince and swallow as he pulls out, feel the gush of thick wet slide down your thighs as he leaves you.

Panting, you bend down to pull your jeans back up when a fist tangles in your hair from behind and  _pulls_. “Oh, I’m not done with you, honey,” he says, voice thick. “Take ‘em off.”  

You’ve got one hand tugging at the grip on your hair while the other slaps back against the door. “Dean,” you try, voice wrecked and raw. _“Please-”_

He gives you another tug, “I’ll tell you when you’ve had enough,” he grits. “Take. Them. Off.”

Breath shaky, you nod against his hold, then toe your shoes off before stepping out of your jeans. He lets you go, and just before you can even think to run for it, Dean’s crowding into you, pressing you back against the door. He bends at the knees, grips you by the backs of your thighs and  _hefts_  you up. He manipulates you like he would a doll, pulls your thighs tight around his waist, then he shucks off his own jeans, shifting you against him as he does.

You grip him by the shoulders because he’s got you pinned and trapped and,  _god_  he’s strong - there’s just nowhere else to go.  A glance down has your chest locking up because he’s half hard and  _swelling._ His eyes flick to yours, face cracking into a wolfish grin. “The Mark does come with a few perks,” he says, and then he’s jabbing into you, pushing in deep until your clit nestles up against the warmth of his lower belly, just under the hem of his shirt.

He drags out slow, and you whimper at the sting of it, your cunt still raw and smarting. Dean chuckles at your grimace, then frowns, mocking, “What the matter, honey? You sore?” You let out a breath you hadn’t realize you’d been holding, and nod. “Poor  _thing_ ,” he says, then  _shoves_ back in. Blunt fingernails bite into the soft flesh of your thighs, shifting you, and then he starts to thrust, deep and  _fast._ You clutch harder at his shoulders and whine his name as he fills you over and over.

You furl into him, let your head drop to the slope of his neck and shoulder because the incessant pumping is quickly drawing up the pleasure, flooding out the pain. You’re still drenched from two orgasms, the wet sound of his plunging cock filling your ears, reminding you of it as it layers onto the building heat.

“Y’gonna come again?” Dean rasps, thrusts quickening. You groan. “I think y’are. I think you like the way The Mark makes me fuck.” You clench, pussy in enthusiastic agreement, and he groans. “Oh yeah, fuck, you  _do_ like it.”

You can’t do anything but moan into his neck, breathe in the sweaty musk of him as your third orgasm of the day rises with every powerful snap of his hips. Your clit’s still sensitive, and tingling little sparks electrify you every time it meets Dean’s hips. He shifts, fumbles his rhythm a little, but then - oh fuck - then he’s fucking up into you in an all new angle, cockhead punching at that hidden spot that has  _everything_ flickering icy-hot.

You’re  _screeching_  his name now; begging because it feels good, feels so fucking good, and you’re gonna come soon, you’re gonna-

You  _explode_ , wailing into his damp neck as you clamp down hard, legs taut, trembling around him. Dean’s groans grow fervent, cock still pistoning - and then he goes still and shaking. Your cunt feels every rhythmic pulse as he comes, nails embedded deep into your thighs. You whimper as he pulls out, feel the hot slick of come flood from your pussy to drip down to the floor in creamy strings.

Dean breathes against you for several simmering moments, softening cock pressed hot and wet against your belly. He looks at you with a dark ferocity, eyes narrowing. You swallow, chest still heaving as you unlock your fingers from his shoulders.

He doesn’t ease you down, shows no compassion as he drops you to the hard floor, leaves you crumpled at his feet against the door. You draw your knees up and hug your shins as he wordlessly redresses. He kicks your jeans to the side, out of the path to his exit, then takes a calculating step toward you until you’re shrouded in his massive shadow. “Move,” he says, from his looming height. You heed the command, rise up on boneless legs and step aside, then bend down to pick up your jeans.

The door groans as it opens, and Dean pauses to look at you from over his shoulder. “Follow me,” he warns, voice cold, “and I’ll kill ya.” The words crash over you in an icy wave, sure he’ll keep his promise, and you nod grimly as you refasten jeans.

The door slams hard enough to rattle the metal stairs, and then you’re alone.


End file.
